


First Impressions and Second Chances

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cute, Drama, F/M, Fear of Flying, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: When Cassian bumps into Reader in the airport, spilling her coffee and luggage everywhere, then runs off, he didn't exactly make the best first impression. But when Reader is stuck sitting beside him on her nine hour flight, she comes to realize that first impressions are not always right and second chances can lead to better beginnings.





	First Impressions and Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request I had a hundred years ago for Cassian and Reader where someone made a terrible first impression in the airport and then they had to sit together. Hope you like it! And feel free to pop onto tumblr and say hi, leave a prompt, etc. @warqueenfuriosa

It was too early to be awake much less traveling but the New York airport was full to bursting with people until I could hardly move without getting jostled by someone. I remained as close to the wall as I could to avoid most of the crowd, nursing my coffee and hoping the caffeine would kick in soon. My plane didn’t leave for another hour and I was in no rush to get to my gate. Once I was on my flight, I wouldn’t be moving much, crammed between two strangers, for the next nine hours on my way to London. I needed the vacation but getting to the vacation part wasn’t going to be pleasant.

As if to prove my point, someone collided with me from behind. My coffee cup crumpled in my hand, soaking the front of my shirt. My suitcase popped open, spilling clothing across the floor.

For a moment, I stood there, stunned. And the person who had collided with me – a man in a black leather jacket with a phone glued to his ear – hardly even slowed down.

“Sorry,” he said, a Spanish accent coloring his voice. He held one hand palm out in my direction as he passed me.

“Could you watch where you’re going next time?” I said, dropping to my knees to pick up my clothes.

But the stranger was showing no inclination to stop and help clean up the mess he had caused. “I’m late for my flight. I have to go. I’m _so_ sorry.”

He lowered the phone and spread his hands with a sympathetic look. Then he was gone and I was left with coffee dripping down my shirt, growing cold against my skin, and my clothes still strewn in the middle of the airport.

“Asshole,” I muttered.

I washed up, changed into a fresh shirt, and made it to my gate just as boarding started. As I stepped onto the plane and started searching for my seat, my jaw unclenched and I forgot about the stranger. My long-awaited vacation was only nine hours away when I could sleep in as late as I wanted to and enjoy my coffee at a reasonable hour, in a cup instead of drenching my clothing.

I found my seat and settled in, with a book across my lap. A little old lady sat next to me, her head leaning against the window, dozing already. The aisle seat to my left was empty and I hoped it stayed that way.

But the plane gradually began to fill up, a steady stream of people shuffling by.

And then I saw him. The stranger who had bumped into me.

I stifled a groan and slid further into my seat, hiding behind my book while watching the aisle at the same time.

_Please keep walking. Please keep walking._

I could see his military boots, jeans tucked in, laces loose, as he came to a stop right beside the empty seat next to me. He shifted for a moment, checked the ticket on his phone then stuffed his backpack into the overhead compartment. He cleared his throat and I forced myself to glance up. He smiled down at me, a little sheepish, but more charming than I cared to admit.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, making no attempt to hide the annoyance in my voice.

He shrugged and still didn’t move into the available seat, even though it was his, as if he was waiting for my permission.

“Turns out,” he said, “I did miss my flight after all.”

“Karma’s a bitch.”

He laughed softly under his breath and placed his hand on the headrest.

“Does that make us even?” he said.

“Not even close.”

I turned back to my book, one elbow propped on the arm rest to block him out. The next nine hours were going to be hellishly long.

He settled into the seat and as he tugged on his jacket, searching for the seat belt, he bumped my elbow. I withdrew my arm, making myself as small as possible so I didn’t have any contact at all.

But he wouldn’t give up. He folded his hands, stretched his legs out under the seat in front of him and leaned closer. And damn it all to hell, he smelled ridiculously good, the faded hint of aftershave, the worn leather from his jacket, and…something underneath, fresh and sharp.

“I made a terrible first impression,” he said, his voice low.

“Bet your ass you did,” I replied without looking up from my book.

He paused and bowed his head with a nod. “Do you think…maybe we could get started on the right foot this time? I’m Cassian Andor.”

He held out his hand to me, waiting. I raised my head even though I didn’t have to consider it. I knew what I would say.

“I’m minding my own business for the next nine hours,” I said and returned to my book.

***

The plane taxied down the runway, the engines roared to life, and the horizon tilted as the wheels left the tarmac. I scrambled to grip the armrest but Cassian’s arm was already draped there, his hand loose and easy, not clawed into desperation for something to hold onto like my hand was. He glanced at me and moved his arm aside. I didn’t meet his gaze as my fingernails dug into the armrest and I focused on not looking out the window.

“Take-off is the hardest part,” Cassian said in reassurance. “Then it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out.”

“You can’t know that,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve been flying dozens of times. Always landed safe and sound. Nothing to be worried about.”

I closed my eyes with a strangled sigh. Before I could tell him and his cool, collected confidence to leave me alone, the old lady next to me shook herself awake. She peered out the window for a moment, not the least bit disturbed by the unnatural slant of the horizon and the way gravity pressed us into our seats.

Then she turned to me and patted my hand. “You seem a little on edge, dear,” she said. “Take-off is rough. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” Cassian said. “She doesn’t believe me.”

The old lady leaned forward, her eyes bright as she looked Cassian over. “Twenty years in the air and I’ve never had any trouble. But you can always spot the newbies, can’t you?”

A hint of a smile dimpled Cassian’s cheek. “Well, first impressions can be misleading.”

My lips tightened and I barely growled in the back of my throat as a warning but if Cassian had heard me, he showed no signs of it. He kept his attention trained on the old lady as he asked questions and listened to her talk about little detail of her life’s story - her grandchildren, her two ex-husbands, her house in New Mexico and her sister who lived in London.

The old lady propped her elbow on her armrest, rested her chin in her hand, and soaked up every minute of Cassian’s attention.

The plane leveled out and the flight became smooth, just as Cassian had said it would. I tried to go back to reading my book but with Cassian and the old lady talking around me, I couldn’t manage more than a sentence or two before I gave up.

Then a stewardess came by, tapped Cassian on the shoulder and whispered something to him. He nodded and unbuckled his seat belt as he turned to the old lady again.

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” he said.

She waved him off with a smile. “Of course, of course. You’ve been so patient, listening to an old woman like me prattle on about everything under the sun.”

As soon as Cassian had left his seat and I sagged with relief, the old lady leaned back with a contented sound. “Such a polite young man,” she said. “So handsome, too.” She nudged me with an elbow. “And did you catch how good he smelled?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “I did. Believe me.”

She hitched one shoulder up with a smile that made her look like a love-struck teenager.

“You get to sit next to him for the whole flight, you lucky girl.”

“I’ll trade seats with you if you like.” _Please,_ I added silently.

She blew out a breath and shook her head. “No, no. You go ahead and enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not – “

“Mind you, if I was thirty years younger, I’d jump at the chance. I’ve always wanted to spend some quality time with an air marshal.”

For a moment, I blinked, startled, at the implication of what exactly she meant by “quality time” but I quickly pushed that thought away.

“Air marshal?” I said. “How do you know that?”

“Badge at his belt.”

“You saw it?”

She nodded. “When you get to be my age, you learn to spot a few things.”

I spotted Cassian on his way back from the front of the plane, head and shoulders visible above the seats as he stopped, half-turned to speak to the stewardess. But I couldn’t see any signs of a badge. I shifted, leaning onto my elbow into his seat until I got a clear view of the aisle. His pale Henley was tucked in at the front, behind his belt buckle, accenting the angle of his hips as he moved.

Just as he turned to face forward and continue along the aisle, I sat bolt upright, fumbling for my book, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

Cassian eased into his seat, his hands resting loosely in his lap. A beat of silence passed, and another, and I slowly released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He shifted closer until his breath fanned my ear and I froze.

“Was there something you wanted?” he said.

My grip tightened on my book. “No.”

“You were staring.”

Shit, he’d definitely seen me. “I wasn’t,” I said, though my protest was weak, even to my own ears.

The old lady next to me gave a small hum of satisfaction as she dozed off again. Cassian drew back a corner of his jacket to expose his badge at his belt for only a moment, less than a flash, for my benefit alone. My gaze flicked up to meet his.

“I’m off duty,” he said. “But I’d still appreciate it if this stayed between us.”

I hesitated, wrestling with my pride and my curiosity all at once. Eventually, my curiosity won out.

“Shouldn’t you…I don’t know…not tell me things like that?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Then why…?”

I trailed off as he simply looked at me and I realized what he was doing. This was an act of trust, to make up for bumping into me and spilling my coffee and my clothes then disappearing.

I picked up my book again. “You don’t need to do me any favors.”

He huffed a short laugh and I hated the way my stomach flipped at the softness of it, the way he ducked his head and that dimple came out in full view, accented by the crinkles around his eyes, making my fingers itch to touch, to trace, to memorize for no good reason at all.

“It’s not a favor,” he said.

“Pity then.”

“It’s not pity either.”

“What would you call it?”

He paused, considering. “A correction.”

“Of your first impression you mean,” I said.

“It was a shitty thing to do, and I apologize.”

I eyed him, wary, and opened my book. “Apology accepted.”

He laughed again, and this time I wasn’t looking at him when the laugh lines and the dimple appeared but my stomach pitched anyway.

“Still got that chip on your shoulder,” he replied. “If it gets any bigger, you might need an extra seat for it.”

“At least then I’d have some peace and quiet,” I said in a sing-song voice.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth with a shake of his head and a corner of his mouth twitched up as he turned away.

***

The turbulence started an hour into the flight. I abandoned my book, stuffed it into the seat pocket in front of me. Every ounce of my attention was focused on my breathing, on keeping my roiling stomach calm. At one time, when the plane rocked and trembled so hard that my teeth rattled, my throat went tight and I felt what little I’d had for breakfast come surging up. I scrambled for the paper bag in the seat pocket, tucked between the magazines, but I couldn’t find it.

Then Cassian tugged one free from the seat pocket in front of him and handed it to me. Thankfully, he made no comment on my sickly appearance and left me to my breathing.

The turbulence smoothed out but the nausea remained and I braced my elbows on my knees, willing myself not to be sick in such a small space in between two strangers.

Vaguely, I was aware of Cassian getting out of his seat, and I hoped he stayed away for a while. At least if I lost my breakfast, I wouldn’t have an audience.

He returned a moment later and laid a cold, wet napkin to the back of my neck. I yipped in surprise but he curved his palm over my neck, firm and gentle, his thumb rubbing back and forth at the base of my skull, fingers settled lightly just under my ear. The thickness in my throat faded and the churn in my stomach eased a bit.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

He withdrew his hand and took his seat again. “Better?”

I nodded and as I still looked at the floor, I said my name.

“What was that?” he said.

I sat up straight and repeated my name. His eyes softened and he ducked his head, not quite a smile, but his posture relaxed.

“Does that mean I’ve redeemed myself?” he asked.

“It means you get a second chance. Be careful how you use it.”

***

Cassian was surprisingly easy to talk to, with steady, unwavering eye contact I had never seen from anyone in my entire life, and sincere, thoughtful questions, proof that he actually listened to everything I said and stowed it away, processing it, no matter how mundane it was. It kept my mind off the flight and the nausea at bay, but occasionally, it made me uneasy too.

“I’m talking way too much,” I said, fiddling with the corner of my book that I hadn’t opened in the past three hours.

“Personally, I prefer the talking rather than the cold shoulder.”

I winced. “You deserved it.”

“Yes I did.”

“You’ve hardly said a word about yourself though.”

He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”

“I highly doubt that. What are you headed to London for?”

“A connecting flight. I was supposed to go to Spain but…”

“You missed your plane. If you hadn’t bumped into me, you probably could have made it.”

He grimaced. “Trust me, I’ve had that thought more than once.”

“What was so important about getting to Spain? You were definitely in a hurry.”

The refreshment cart came to a stop two aisles ahead of mine. Cassian idly tugged his tray table down.

“Work,” he said.

“That was about as grudging and vague of a response as possible,” I said.

“It’s not a good idea to tell you anything more than that.”

“Right.”

He gave the breath of a laugh, with not quite as much humor in it as before. “I could guess the next question that’s coming.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh really?”

He nodded and propped his elbow on the armrest to his left, chin resting on his knuckles. Making it a clear point to not look at me. He had seemed relatively open, as much as any stranger could be open with another stranger, but now there was a definite closing of a door he did not want to discuss.

From this angle, I could see his profile, lit from above by the small, golden light overhead, blue and purple shadows coloring the background. The sharp, set line of his jaw, dark, rough stubble accenting his high cheekbones, and his hair spilling over his forehead…he was beautiful to look at in a way that made me want to study him for hours. As long as I didn’t get caught doing it.

“Say it,” he said.

“Say what? You already know what I’m going to ask.” I paused then added, “Supposedly.”

He glanced at me then, his hands sliding back and forth over the tops of his thighs as if bracing himself.

“I used to be in the military,” he said. “Got tired of losing friends. So I became an air marshal. I get to fly, I get to protect people. That’s all I care about.”

I didn’t respond. Judging by how Cassian tugged at his ear and shifted in his seat, as if he wanted to leave but there was nowhere to go, suggested that maybe he’d said a little more than he had intended to.

“That wasn’t my next question,” I said.

A slight wrinkle of confusion pulled between his eyebrows, and I had the absolutely ridiculous thought of smoothing it away with my thumb.

“It wasn’t?” Cassian said.

I shook my head. “Nope. I was going to ask if there were any beaches where you were headed. Maybe some tequila, margaritas, anything with alcohol. Sounds like you need a vacation just as much as I do.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then a smile of relief bloomed, bright and smooth and easy.

The refreshment cart came to a stop next to Cassian and as I was passed my cup of water, the plane hit a burst of rough air. The cup slipped from the steward’s fingers early and I juggled it for a split second, only to lose it.

And my ice water dumped right into Cassian’s lap.

He made a strangled noise of surprise and rose up out of his seat, stopping just short of knocking his head on the compartment above. The steward grabbed fistfuls of napkins and Cassian took them, doing his best to sop up the water.

My hands shot out automatically to help only to stop short. The front of Cassian’s jeans was soaking wet and I couldn’t do anything about it.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, miserable.

“It’s fine,” Cassian said, squirming into the aisle. “I’ll just…go take care of it.”

I stewed in my guilt for several minutes until Cassian returned. He patted his seat first to check if it was dry before he sat down again. I glanced at him, searching for any signs of resentment or anger but there was only that uptick at the corner of his mouth, the dimple in his cheek.

“You take your payback very seriously,” he said. “The ice was a nice touch.”

I blew out a breath as I closed my eyes and before I even realized what I was doing, my hand came to rest on his forearm.

“I am so, so sorry,” I said again. “I swear I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I’m serious!”

He only raised an eyebrow in amusement and I groaned, covering my face with my hands, mortified. I felt him lean closer, his heat at my shoulder, his breath against the side of my neck, as he peeled one of my hands away from my face.

“No hard feelings,” he said. “Although I think we’ll call it even now, to be safe. Revenge can go on and on…”

I made no reply, studying his fingers hooked over mine, thumb across my knuckles. He glanced down and for a moment, he didn’t move.

Then he released my hand and looked away and I opened my book, hand fisted at my side as if I could hold onto the memory of his warm skin.

***

Two-thirds of the way through the flight, I began to doze off, my head drifting forward further and further until my chin touched my chest and my neck screamed in protest at the strain. I leaned back against the headrest but it was impossible to sleep for any more than a minute or two at a time while sitting up straight like I was.

The old lady next to me had been asleep for hours, her head pillowed on a blue lap blanket she had brought with her, bunched up against the window. And Cassian didn’t look like he ever slept, pacing the empty aisle occasionally, studying the ceiling or contemplating the floor, but no book, music, or phone to entertain himself.

By the third time I had dozed off and snapped awake, rubbing my sore neck, Cassian stood again and I thought he was off to wander the plane again, to stretch his legs and get his blood pumping.

Instead, Cassian opened the overhead compartment and as he reached up, his shirt came untucked, rising high enough that I caught a glimpse of smooth, tan skin at his hip. My heart ratcheted into high speed, my throat went dry, and I my gaze darted away.

Cassian returned to his seat, draped a blanket across my lap and wedged a pillow in next to his shoulder.

“There’s no point,” he said, “starting your vacation with a whole host of neck problems because you slept wrong.”

“But…” I glanced at the pillow. I might as well be resting my head on his shoulder, for god’s sake.

“Believe me, I don’t mind. The last flight, I sat beside a football player who snored. You’ve already proven to be far more pleasant company.”

A flush of heat warmed my face, even though I knew it was ridiculous. He was just being polite.

“If you’re sure,” I said.

Cassian slid deeper into his seat, hands folded across his stomach. “I’m sure.”

I gave the pillow a tentative adjustment, glanced at Cassian one last time, at that profile, edged in faded in golden light. Then I lowered my head to the pillow and melted into sleep.

***

“Time to wake up.”

Fingers brushed my kneecap with a slight shake. I straightened in my seat, grimacing at my stiff neck and back. Cassian pointed to the window.

“We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes,” he said. “Landing is usually a little bumpy. Thought you might like to prepare yourself.”

I sat up, taking in the miniature scenery of London outside the window and scrubbed a hand over my face, smoothed down my hair hoping I didn’t look as ragged as I felt.

“You didn’t snore by the way,” Cassian added.

_Thank god,_ I thought. “Did you get any sleep at all?” I replied.

He shook his head. “I never sleep in the air. Habit of the job.”

Before I could say anything else, the plane dipped nose down and my hands flew to the armrests, fingernails digging into the plastic. Cassian kept his arms close to his body, relaxed and calm, granting me full access to the armrest between us.

“Think of beaches,” he whispered. “And margaritas.”

I let out a small, strangled laugh. “That’s your vacation, not mine. I’m going to London, remember?”

“Crowded streets and traffic jams aren’t relaxing to think about.”

“Maybe I should catch that connecting flight to Spain with you instead.”

A heartbeat of silence. It was meant as a joke, a light jab for the return volley in our banter, but when I dared to glance at Cassian to gauge his reaction, to see if he felt the same skip in his breath that I did at the thought…I could see it written there in his dark eyes.

Only for a moment.

Then it was hidden away again.

Why was I even entertaining these thoughts in the first place over a stranger I had known for less than twelve hours? And half of those hours had been spent hating his guts for being rude. I’d never acted like this before, never joked about following a virtual stranger to another part of the world.

The plane gave a shudder and I closed my eyes and didn’t think of Cassian again until the landing gear touched the tarmac and the plane was slowly heading to the terminal. Cassian hesitated then reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping it against his knee in thought. He opened his mouth but before he could speak, the plane had come to a stop and passengers were standing, fetching luggage, lining up in the aisle.

The old lady next to me cast a knowing smile in my direction as she tugged her floral suitcase from underneath the seat and stood. Cassian stepped aside to let both of us out and I turned to get my bag from the overhead compartment. But he reached it first, pulled it free and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

He ducked his head, a faint flush of color creeping over his cheeks. I wavered where I stood, thinking how it wouldn’t take much to ask for his number to continue…this…whatever it was.

In the end, I turned and kept walking.

I made it off the plane and into the airport before Cassian caught up to me. He touched two fingers to my elbow and I stopped.

“At least let me buy you a coffee,” he said, slightly out of breath. His hair, smoothed into place before, had become ruffled, falling over his forehead in a tousle that made him look younger, less intimidating and severe. “To make up for the one I spilled all over you.”

I smiled and shoved my hand in my pocket to keep from brushing his hair back from his forehead. He studied me silently, patiently, guarded hope in his eyes.

“I really need to be going,” I said, apologetic. “I have to check into my hotel before my reservation expires and I don’t even have a car yet…”

The hope vanished, guttered out to darkness and he bowed his head, took a step back, distancing himself.

“Of course,” he said. “Enjoy your vacation. You deserve it.”

I didn’t move. I retrieved my phone from my back pocket and held it out to him.

“But I’d like to take a rain check,” I said.

He raised his head and that spark was barely there as he tentatively reached out and took my phone. He stared at it for a moment before his thumbs skimmed over the keypad, putting in his number and handed it back. As I took my phone again, Cassian maintained his grip and stepped towards me until he was only inches away.

I froze as he leaned in, dipped his head the slightest bit, and for one ridiculous, outrageous, thrilling moment, I thought he was actually going to kiss me.

Then he tilted his head to the side and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek with the softest, lightest touch of his lips. And when he pulled back, his gaze was focused on the floor, his lashes, long and dark, shielding his eyes.

Finally, he looked up with that hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, dimple flashing out, and my stomach dropped. I was a goner.

“Another time then,” he said.

I nodded and forced myself to back away from him. And when I stared at my phone, there was his number. All I had to do was dial and pick up the silver thread of opportunity this second chance had given me.

***

I tried to call. Over and over. But every time, my thumb stopped over the call button, hovering, hesitating. The memory of Cassian’s lips, warm on my cheek, had lingered throughout my entire vacation. I lay awake every night, one hand pressed to my cheek and the phantom sandpaper feel of his scruff against my skin, the feathery heat of his breath, the promise of a kiss.

In the end, I didn’t make the call. It was too far out there for me to take the leap. I hardly knew him. How could I call him up and start chatting? What if I ruined a good thing and it turned out to be awkward and stilted? Maybe it was best to leave Cassian in the past as a pleasant memory and nothing more.

My vacation ended all too quickly and I was back on a plane in two weeks, on a return flight to New York. The plane was blessedly empty and I had an entire row to myself. Not crammed between two strangers. And no Cassian.

I took out my phone again, pulled up his number, just as I did every time I thought of him. It was too late now to make the call. Two weeks had passed. He would wonder why it had taken so long to respond and I wouldn’t know what to say and I would ruin everything before it had even begun.

I sighed and stowed my phone in my bag under the seat, pulled out my book from the seat pocket and opened it, settling in for the next nine hours.

“Is this seat taken?”

I glanced up to see Cassian smiling down at me. He looked lighter than before, no leather jacket, no badge.  Just a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and two paper cups in hand.

For a moment, I floundered, unsure what to say. He raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the seat beside me.

“It’s all yours,” I said.

He slid in and offered one of the cups to me.

“Coffee,” he said. “Just as I promised.”

I accepted it, wrapping my fingers around the welcoming warmth. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, tipping a sugar packet into his own cup. “I know. But I wanted to.”

“How did you find me?”

“I’m an air marshal. Most of my job is spent keeping tabs on people.” He paused, tilted his head to the side. “And I mean that in a not creepy way.”

I glanced down at my cup, running my finger along the rim.

“You didn’t call,” he whispered.

I shook my head, silent.

“If you want me to leave – “ he started but I stopped him.

“I’d like you to stay,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

In answer, I reached across the armrest as the plane rumbled out on the runway, preparing for take-off, and I threaded my fingers through his.

“Nervous?” he said.

I huffed, faking a casual tone I didn’t feel. “Of flying? I’m a pro now.”

He ducked his head with that soft, secret, shy little smile that only came out when his cheeks colored so prettily with pink.

“Not quite what I meant,” he said softly. He leaned closer, trailing kisses down my jawline until he reached the corner of my mouth.

I sucked in a breath and he stopped, pulled back just far enough to look me in the eyes. I was squeezing my coffee cup so tightly that I expected it to crumple at any moment.

Cassian brushed the back of his fingers along my shoulder, curving around the back of my neck where he had touched before when I was sick, when I had been so keenly aware of the pressure of his fingertips below my ear, exactly where they were now.

I blew out a shaky breath as Cassian’s mouth hovered above mine, nosing at my cheek, hesitating, for my sake. I tilted my head up and as hard as it had been to carry through with that call I couldn’t make, his lips were right there and it was so easy to kiss him that it startled me and I broke away.

Quickly, I kissed him again, eager for more, in case he disappeared, lost on some other flight around the world and I didn’t see him again. I felt his smile spread, slow and sweet as honey, his fingers gliding into my hair. And I opened my mouth to him, letting his tongue sweep across mine with a lingering taste of coffee and sugar.

I didn’t even notice when the horizon tipped at an unnatural angle and the plane climbed into the sky on take-off. I was already in the clouds.

 


End file.
